In this latest instalment of the Keep Talking series, CommBank’s Pat Crowley talks about the importance of continuing to do, not simply continuing to talk.
Many people in our industry are aware of the difficult circumstances my family has been navigating. Our sons, Levi and Fletch, are each fighting very different battles, Levi with a rare form of cancer called VHL, and Fletch with the life-altering effects of a spinal cord injury.
Before anything else, I want to acknowledge the overwhelming gratitude we feel. The support from this industry, emotionally and practically, has carried us in ways that are hard to fully express.
I’ve spoken before about the impact this has had on our family as a whole. But as part of the Keep Talking initiative, I wanted to reflect more personally on what this experience has meant for my own mental health.
First, Keep Talking is absolutely the right place to start.
In moments like this, it would have been easy for Nicky and me to retreat inward, to sit separately with our grief, disconnected from each other and from the world around us. The same could have happened with our friends, our family, and our colleagues. The scale of emotion, the unpredictability of each day, and the depth of the pain can make sharing feel overwhelming.
We were fortunate in ways I know not everyone is. We are naturally open as a family and have always found it easier to share than to hold things in. We have an incredible network of friends who stepped up without hesitation. We made a huge effort to make space for psychologists who gave us tools to navigate the chaos.
Even with that support, talking wasn’t easy. But it helped us stay connected and grounded.
What I also came to understand was that every time I shared even a small part of what we were going through, I felt a little lighter. Not because anyone could fix it. Not because speaking about it made the situation less painful. But because it meant I was no longer carrying every piece of it alone.
Each conversation seemed to take a small part of the weight out of me. It was as though the emotion, the fear, the sadness and the sheer intensity of it all had somewhere else to go, even briefly. Someone else was willing to sit with it, to hear it, and to hold a little of it with me.
That, I think, is one of the quiet powers of talking. It doesn’t always solve anything. But it can stop the pain from living entirely inside you.
What I’ve learned, though, is that talking isn’t everything.
There were times when talking became exhausting, almost counterproductive. I found myself replaying events, getting stuck in the logistics of each day, and mentally unable to step away. Someone once described it to me as “emotional flooding,” and it resonated immediately. It’s that sense of being so immersed in the situation that you can’t catch your breath.
What helped me through those moments was something that, at first, felt counterintuitive: stepping away.
I learned that a form of avoidance, what psychologists call “avoidant coping”, can actually be healthy when used in the right way. Giving myself permission to do normal things, things that I have always loved, like going for a surf or a ski, wasn’t avoidance in the negative sense. It was recovery.
Those moments of escape created space to reset, to breathe, and to return more present and more capable of handling what lay ahead.
Without that balance, I don’t think I could have sustained the energy needed for the long road we’re on.
So, if I could gently build on the message of Keep Talking, I’d suggest it needs a second chapter:
Keep Doing.
Because sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do for your mental health is talk. And sometimes, it is to live, even if just for a moment.
Keep Talking. Keep Doing
